What a Dragon Should Know (Dragon Kin #3)(72)

“Well, if you thought she was mad before …” he announced to the room.

Fearghus rested his elbows against his knees. “What happened with Izzy?”

Briec went face down on the bed, mumbling something into the fur covering it.

“What?”

He lifted his head. “I said, ‘she was playing Run and Jump.’ ”

Fearghus cringed. “And Talaith saw her? Gods.”

“You forgot the best part,” Gwenvael added. “She was playing Run and Jump with Celyn.”

Briec buried his head back into the bedding while Fearghus sat up straight, scowling. “That dirty little bastard.”

“My thoughts exactly, brother. I say we go out there and kick the shit out of him.”

Éibhear let out a bored sigh. “Who cares?”

Gwenvael looked at Fearghus, Fearghus looked at Briec, and Briec’s head popped back up off the bed.

Leaning over the foot of the bed, Gwenvael asked, “What was that?”

“I said ‘who cares?’ ”

“You don’t?”

“No. I don’t.”

“He’s such a liar,” Gwenvael mouthed to Fearghus.

“I know!” Fearghus mouthed back.

Éibhear slammed his book closed. “And whatever you two bastards are doing, stop it.”

Dagmar soaked in the tub, her hair and body scrubbed clean. And while she relaxed in the steaming water, Annwyl and Lady Morfyd ate from large platters of food placed on the table in front of them.

Morfyd, it turned out, was another bloody dragon in disguise, and Gwenvael’s older sister. She was beautiful with long white hair and a long, lean body, easily seen once she pulled off the voluminous witches’ robes she wore and relaxed at the table in a thin pale pink gown. She was nothing like Gwenvael, however; that was clear enough. Sweet, borderline shy, and soft-spoken, she didn’t seem to have anything in common with her sibling.

“Here.” Morfyd handed her a small plate piled with food easily eaten without utensils. “A little something while you relax.”

“Thank you.” Dagmar popped a round ball of fried dough into her mouth and sighed.

Oh, yes, she could definitely get used to this.

“Minotaurs?” Annwyl asked again. “I didn’t think they existed.”

“You said the same thing about Centaurs,” Morfyd reminded the monarch, “until you got that hoof to the back of the head.”

“She snuck up on me,” Annwyl snarled between clenched teeth. And, just as quickly, her anger faded and she held up a bottle. “Wine, Dagmar?”

“Yes, please.”

The queen poured a chalice of wine, and Dagmar asked what had been perplexing her for some time. “Why do they want you dead? It’s the question I haven’t been able to get answered.”

“That’s easy—” Annwyl began, but Morfyd quickly cut her off.

“It’s very complicated. There’s much that leads us to this point. So I will start from the beginning—”

“Fearghus knocked me up,” Annwyl blurted out.

“Gods dammit, Annwyl!” Morfyd exploded.

“That’s the main part of the story.”

“I’m not sure why it matters.” Dagmar picked up another piece of baked something or other and nearly melted away in her bath it tasted so delicious.

“Gwenvael didn’t tell you who Fearghus is, did he?”

“He’s Annwyl’s consort.”

“And our brother.”

Dagmar swallowed her food. “So he’s a …”

“Yes.”

“But Annwyl is …”

“Yes.”

“How is that possible?”

“Again,” Morfyd said patiently. “It gets very complex. If we look back at history and the beginning of—”

“The god Rhydderch Hael has been playing with my insides.”

“Gods dammit, Annwyl!”

“You’re taking too bloody long!”

“Before this gets ugly,” Dagmar easily coasted in, “perhaps we should discuss the tunnels I told you about?”

Morfyd studied her closely and asked, “Does it not bother you?”

She knew she didn’t mean the tunnels. “Bothered by what?”

“The soon-to-happen unholy birth of Annwyl’s spawn?”

“Oy!” Annwyl objected.

“Pardon?” Dagmar asked before popping another delicious something in her mouth.

“No offense, Dagmar, but so far every human who’s been told about Annwyl’s pregnancy without the necessary backstory has been quick to label Annwyl a whore and her babes demons. Yet you don’t seem to care.”

“Am I carrying her children?” Dagmar inquired while licking her fingers.

Morfyd raised a white brow. “Not that I’m aware.”

“Then to quote my father, ‘I really don’t give a battle-f*ck.’ ”

Annwyl coughed up whatever she’d just put in her mouth, hitting Morfyd in the face.

“I do, however, have concerns over those tunnels, so we’ll focus on that.”

Gwenvael stretched his legs out and wiggled his toes. “I’m so exhausted. All that bloody flying.”